


Demon Down Under

by filthy_rat



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Demon Junkrat, F/M, Light Bondage, Painplay, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 20:44:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12540824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthy_rat/pseuds/filthy_rat
Summary: You are a hunter, but your prey is more than just common animals. No, you are a hunter of all things supernatural and dark. Demons, vampires, ghouls, shapeshifters -- the things that haunt the dark corners of human society. It's a thankless, dirty, dangerous job, the family business, but it's all you've known. When you cross paths with a flirtatious demon, however, your devotion to the cause is heavily tested.





	Demon Down Under

**Author's Note:**

> more halloween shenanigans ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

This world isn’t always what it seems. That’s something you’ve learned in your many years as a demon hunter -- someone well versed in the darkness that hides just outside of humanity’s periphery. Across the country you roam, rooting out evil and destroying it. Saving people, hunting things. The family business. _What a crock of shit._

A quiet, disgusted noise escapes your lips as you lift your tumbler of whiskey to your lips. This dingy bar in the heart of the city has been your hunting grounds of choice lately, and it’s been a fruitful week. In the past few days, you’ve successfully hunted a vampire, a djinn, and several shapeshifters. The djinn had been easy enough to persuade to leave, but the vampire and shapeshifters had required… tougher methods. You still haven’t gotten all the blood out of your clothes.

Right now, all you want is to have a drink by yourself, but the fates have other ideas.

As he walks in the door, all sharp grins and raucous laughter, you immediately know that this man is more than what he seems. On the outside, he looks like your average punk -- skinny, a blonde mohawk, leather boots and jacket, a pierced nose and tongue. The peg leg is pretty retro. And does he have a prosthetic arm as well? As he wanders for a bit, you catch snippets of his yelled conversation. He’s Australian, from the sound of it. You eye him warily from your spot by the bar, begging whatever gods might be listening for him to ignore you.

You aren’t so lucky.

As if drawn to you by some invisible wire, he makes a beeline almost straight for you. As he approaches, you find yourself falling into your usual ‘airheaded flirt’ persona with ease, to lull him into a false sense of security. Always helps root out the monsters if you pretend to be weak. He leans one elbow on the bar beside you, oozing that unusual and rough Aussie charm, and offers to buy you another drink.

The night is a bit of a blur after the fourth shot of Jack Daniels. Admittedly, part of you remembers finding him funny and sort of cute in an ugly stray dog kind of way, even though you know his entire personality is an act. Eventually, you ask if he’d like to accompany you back to your apartment.

“Oh, I sure as fuck do, babe,” he says, and his eyebrows wiggle suggestively.

In a drunken tangle, the pair of you leave the bar, arms slung around shoulders. The walk back to your loft isn’t far, and he teaches you pub songs the whole way.

“And René Descartes was a drunken fart,” he sings, grinning wide. “I drink, therefore I am!”

“Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed…” you reply, but you struggle to remember the next line.

“A lovely little thinker…” he provides helpfully.

“But a bugger when he’s pissed!!” the both of you shout, joyous and exultant as you approach the door to your apartment building. Giggling, you shush him, finger pressing to his lips, and start fumbling with your keys.

“You were shoutin’ just as much as me,” he replies, hands skimming across your hips and waist, distracting you from finding the right key. He pulls himself closer to you, pressing his nose against the nape of your neck.

“I can’t find the key,” you say breathlessly, grinning, but then his lips are at your shoulder and suddenly the keys seem much less important.

“I’ll fuck you right here if I have to,” he rumbles, and the hardness in his trousers, pressing against your backside, says plainly that he isn’t kidding around.

For just a moment, you lean back and let him grope you, losing yourself in this self-indulgent fantasy. At the back of your mind, your hunter instincts fight to take control of your inebriated brain. This man is a _monster_ in disguise. How many has he killed? How many more will he kill? Your job is to stop him, not sleep with him. But it’s hard to focus on anything when his hand is sneaking beneath your shirt. A quiet giggle escapes him, sending a pleasured shiver down your spine.

“Easy, big guy,” you whisper, finally taking control of the situation. With some reluctance, you disentangle yourself from his eager embrace, find the correct key, and let yourself into your building. As quietly as you can manage, you both hurry up the two staircases towards your room on the third floor. You only stop once when he catches up to you and presses you against the wall, mouth finding yours in the low light of the hallway.

Both of you tumble into your apartment at long last, giggling madly. The door is locked securely behind you, and now the real dirty work begins. You close your eyes for a brief moment, hating that you have to do this. But it has to be done.

Turning to press your back against the closed door, you saddle him with the most seductive look you can manage, and gesture him closer with a crook of your index finger.

Flashing you a toothy, crooked grin, he closes the distance between you, mouth everywhere at once. Your fingers curl in the neck of his ragged tank top, and you guide him down the hallway towards your bedroom. Distracting him with your kisses, you guide him to sit in the char by your desk, and move around behind him. A little cackle escapes your prey as he watches you from over his shoulder.

“Oh, sweetheart, you wanna play some games?”

“Mm, something like that.”

Gently, you draw his leather jacket off his shoulders and toss it aside. Mouth continuing its distracting game, you pull his arms backwards, pressing his wrists together… and wrap a blessed rosary around both of them.

Suddenly the entire atmosphere of the room changes. He tenses, fingers flexing against the string of wooden beads, and his answering laugh is much less comical. It’s a dark, dangerous rumble.

“Oh, so this is the kinda games we’re playin’.”

“This is no game, demon.”

“How’d you figure it out, babe? I was trying so hard to be normal…” And with that, his glamour fades. Pale skin turns a deep crimson. A long, slender tail sprouts from his lower back, twisting and coiling ceaselessly. From his brow, two long, wickedly curved horns grow in the blink of an eye, and his eyes turn black as night. Like dropping ink into a glass of water. His clothes melt away, revealing a skinny, muscular torso and long legs ending in cloven hooves. A black loincloth is now the only thing covering him. Strangely enough, both his prosthetics remain in place, but instead of mechanical, they are made of black onyx and what looks to be dragon fire.

“I knew it the second I saw you,” you say, fishing out a crucifix from your dresser and approaching him. “Hunters just know.”

“A hunter, ey? Fuck, I sure do know how to pick ‘em.” His voice has become unearthly, like there are multiple layers to it. All of them somehow his voice but each one altered slightly. The strangeness of it sends a shiver down your spine.

Wordlessly, you press the crucifix against the demon’s chest and he snarls in pain. There’s a faint hissing sound, and smoke rises from the wound. When you pull it back to inspect the mark, he pants and sags in his chair, but his tail is animatedly swishing. Smiling mouth open wide, tongue lolling, the demon stares up at you with lidded eyes. A low, amorous sound escapes from deep within his chest.

“Ohhh, sweetheart… _do that again_ ,” he says, wriggling a little against his bonds as his tail twitches with electricity. He flashes you a sharp grin. There’s a distinct tent to the black loincloth now. He’s getting _off_ to your torture. You stare at him with wide, bewildered eyes.

“...That was supposed to hurt.”

“Oh, like hellfire it did, yeah…” he says, grinning wickedly up at you. Then his expression quickly turns impatient. “C’mon, c’mon! Don’t you wanna make me squeal? Pretty thing like you could make me _beg…_ ”

 _This little goblin!_ Cheeks warm, you put the crucifix down on the side table and instead pick up a little vial of colorless liquid.

The demon cocks his head to one side, squints at the bottle, and his eyes immediately glitter with recognition. “Ohhh, _holy water!_ Mm, sweetheart, you really know how to get a guy riled up, yanno what I mean?”

“Shut up or you’re getting a gag,” you snarl, twisting open the stopper on the vial.

“Promises, promises!” he replies in a singsong voice.

Irritated beyond description by his inane jabbering, your hand lashes out in the blink of an eye and closes around the demon’s throat. You squeeze, only a little, but enough to show him that you mean business. A choked wheezing escapes the imp, his solid black eyes watering with pain. There’s no smile on his lips now. With a snarl, you lean down until your faces are merely inches apart.

“Be silent, creature.”

With a pained wheeze, the demon chokes out a single word that you can’t quite understand. Brow furrowed, you lessen your grip on his throat to allow him to speak.

“What?”

Another wheeze, and he speaks in a husky, raw tone. “I said… _harder!_ ”

A disgusted snort escapes you. _Pervert._ You release his throat with a little push, and straighten. A dry, hacking laugh escapes him, and he flashes you a manic grin. You _hate_ the way your cheeks grow warmer, but the ravenous look in his eyes is… _doing_ things to you. Jaw set, you circle around the chair slowly, holding the vial of holy water in one hand. His gaze follows your every move, hunger glittering in its inky depths.

“You’re blushing,” sings the demon, and his bushy eyebrows bounce suggestively.

Without a word, you lean over him from behind and dribble some of the holy water onto his stomach and chest. It smolders and hisses like a campfire, and part of you delights in the way he clenches his sharp teeth around a pained yelp. But his silence is short lived. Panting hard, his tongue hangs happily out of his open grinning mouth, and the look he gives you now is nothing short of _besotted._

“Ohhhh, fuck _me_ , sweetheart. You know how to treat a demon, I’ll give you that… Now sit on my face and tell me I’m a good boy.”

“Why are you _like this?_ ” you growl in frustration, but your pulse is quickening as you speak, remembering the heady rush of adrenaline from before. He had been _such_ a good kisser. Your fingers wrap around his throat again and give it a quick squeeze. In fascination, you watch the stiff outline of his cock twitch. You have to admit… you’re a little curious, and the desire from before resurfaces. You’ve never seen a demon’s dick before.

“I dunno, darl… Maybe me dad just didn’t give us enough hugs.”

“You don’t _have_ a father.”

“I did, at one point. Look, we’re getting off the subject at hand, babe.” His gaze meets yours and his lips curve into an indecent smirk. “You gonna fuck me or what?”

In response, you empty the contents of the vial in a line across his chest. The yelp of pain he gives sends a ripple of pleasure down your spine. Again his red skin sizzles like bacon in a pan, and smoke rises from the ugly burns. He droops in his chair, breathing hard, but his cock still remains stiff. Admittedly, the idea of experimenting is becoming more and more intriguing to you. There’s no harm in having… a little fun, right?

Wordlessly, you cross the room and check that the door is locked. Ignoring his curious staring, you draw the curtains and turn on a lamp. Your bedroom is now bathed in a warm light. Without meeting his gaze, you shrug out of your jacket and toss it onto your bed. Your trousers come next, and they’re pooled at your ankles before he speaks again.

“Ohh, what I wouldn’t _give_ to have my hands free,” he says, in a low, husky growl that has goosebumps rippling down your skin.

Already a part of you is regretting this. You step out of your pants, kick them aside, and approach your captive. He can barely contain the glee shimmering in his eyes. Angrily, you take a fistful of his hair and yank it backwards, tilting his chin upwards until your faces are close. His breath _reeks_ of sulphur and brimstone. It doesn’t help that he can’t seem to smile without opening his mouth as wide as it will stretch. A distant part of you realizes his tongue is forked, and you wonder if he’s any good with it. It must be good for something other than _talking._

“You are not allowed to talk anymore,” you say, teeth gritted in frustration. “Understand?”

He says nothing, merely grins that wickedly indecent grin up at you. Again, you give his hair a sharp tug, impatient with his games.

“Well?”

“How am I supposed to answer if I’m not allowed to talk anymore, babe? I don’t wanna --”

A frustrated growl rising in your throat, you close the short distance and silence his prattling with a rough kiss. He groans against your mouth, drawing your bottom lip between his sharp teeth and nibbling. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you settle astride his lap, his stiff cock pressed against your lower stomach. Not once do your lips leave his. He tastes like the fires of hell itself, a biting, smoky flavor to his tongue. A subtle burn chases his kiss. Without the use of his hands, the demon has a limited range of movement, but he still manages to make you moan. He rocks his hips against you, rubbing his stiffness against your mound. A soft sound of frustration builds in his throat, and his shoulders flex, attempting to loosen the ties around his wrists.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear, and you can hear the desperation to his voice. “Lemme get my hands on you, like before.”

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll make do…” he replies, and his canines dig into the soft skin of your neck.

It’s a soft bite, no skin broken, but a hot, liquid warmth blossoms in lower belly. A hiss of pain escapes you, and your hips buck against him of their own accord. _“No biting,”_ you snarl warningly, tugging on his hair once more. But he only giggles in response.

“You wigglin’ around on my cock sure as fuck gives the impression that you _like_ it, darl,” he says, and again he nibbles on your shoulder. A small, breathy moan escapes you before you can stop yourself.

“Shut up.”

“I won’t if you don’t make me,” he replies, in that same infuriating singsong voice.

Again you kiss him, desperate to silence his ramblings. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. It’s not because you secretly _like_ the taste of smoke on his lips. It’s not because the groans he makes against your mouth sends ripples of pleasure through you. It’s not because his cock twitches every time you dig your nails into his scalp. Of course not. _It’s just to shut him up._ You deepen the kiss, gasping against his mouth as he rocks himself against you.

You pull back an inch or two, lips swollen and bruised, breathing hard. He drags that wicked forked tongue across his lips, and a brilliant idea strikes you like a bolt of lightning.

You stand and, ignoring his piteous whines, tip the chair you have him tied to until his back is flat on the ground. Again he wriggles in his seat, adjusting his arms so they aren’t pinched underneath him. At first he looks uncertain, craning his neck to watch you, and then he catches sight of you slowly easing your panties down your hips. Immediately, he lights up, his inky black eyes transfixed on you. When the shirt and bra come next, he bites back an appreciative groan. This demon’s too smart for his own damn good.

“Ohhh sweetheart, you comin’ to collect on that offer I made?”

“I don’t know, are you gonna watch it with the teeth?”

He grins. “I’ll be on me best behavior, love, I swear.”

Heart pounding in your chest, you position your hips above his head and lower yourself until his mouth can reach you. Eagerly, his forked tongue darts out and laps at your waiting sex. It’s probably the sloppiest oral you’ve ever received in your life, but this demon has at least got skills. His tongue laves hot and steady across your folds and circles your clit, drawing the little bud into his mouth and sucking greedily until you cry out. Needing something to anchor you, your fingers seize upon a handful of his hair and tug.

“Fuck... You’re really good at this...”

He groans raggedly against you, and his tail again writhes with delight. Does he… _like_ that, being praised? From the way his enthusiasm for eating you out has now doubled, you’d say that’s a resounding yes. This demon has a praise kink. A low laugh escapes your throat. _This day could not get any weirder._

The warmth in your lower belly blossoms further, threatening to overflow, and suddenly the pleasure sharply crests. He continues his onslaught, merciless in his pursuit of your release. And oh, what a release it is. You cry out, leg trembling uncontrollably, as your orgasm washes over you. But he doesn’t stop there. He continues on, dragging sharp, rough gasps from your lips with more unpredictable swipes of that molten tongue. Another orgasm quickly overtakes your senses, momentarily blinding you. When it finally ebbs, you have to jerk away from his mouth to get him to stop.

A maniacal giggle escapes him, and he licks his lips clean.

Standing, you collect yourself, smoothing your hair away from your face and catching your breath. You tip the chair back up, and the demon flexes his arms and hands. He cocks his head and saddles you with a mischievous stare, patiently waiting for your next move. But you get the feeling patience is not something he has in spades. It’s not long before he’s _speaking_ again.

“You taste right fuckin’ delicious, babe.”

“I thought I told you to be quiet. Do you want to be gagged?”

“Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time, darl.”

 _Fine. If this is how you want to play it…_ You turn to a bedside table. Eyes fixated on him, you fish around in the drawer for just a second, and produce a red rubber ball gag with a metal buckle.

The demon’s eyes go wide as dinner plates, and his grin goes even wider.

“I fuckin’ knew you was a kinky one.”

“Shut… _up,_ ” you command, and push the gag into his open mouth. You buckle the gag tight behind his head, leaning back to admire your handiwork. Your fingers curl under his chin, tilting it up so that he can look into your eyes. “There. Now you’ll be a good boy for me, won’t you?”

The demon’s eyebrows knit together and arch in surprise, and he gives you a vigorous nod. You’re almost reminded of a puppy. His tail is even wagging. Again, you slide into his lap, his stiff cock pressing insistently against you. When your fingers twitch aside the loincloth and brush featherlight along his cock, he grunts, and you watch as his sharp teeth bite into the gag, piercing the rubber ball just a fraction. If you keep this up, he’s liable to _chew through it._

“Oh, what a cute boy you are,” you whisper, taking him in hand and stroking with a loose grip until he moans helplessly through his gag. “We’re barely even started and you’re all riled up already. Look at you. Such a good boy you are for me.” You’re only distantly aware of what you’re saying, if you’re really honest. All that matters is that tone of your voice, that soft, affectionate cooing that has his eyes transfixed on you and his breath coming in short, shallow pants. Your fingers map his cock, your mind taking note of the ridges along the underside, like the plating on a dragon’s belly.

Then you get an idea. Your hands lift to his head, and you curl your fingers around his horn. When your fingers stroke along the ridged point, his eyes roll back in his head, and muffled sounds of pleasure escape him. It almost sounds like purring. His tail moves ceaselessly, coiling and twisting like an agitated rattler. For a few seconds you tease his horn with light strokes, all the while pressing gentle kisses to his nose and cheeks and jawbone. He whines piteously through the gag. The sound of his clear frustration has warmth pooling deep in your belly again. Heavens above, but you _want_ him.

“You like that, don’t you? You like it when I touch you like this?”

Again, he nods, and his cock twitches against your mound, desperate for you. A pearly bead of precum clings to the tip. Your thumb presses against it, smearing it across the head of his cock.

With a ragged, muffled groan, his head falls backward in sheer bliss. Hungrily, you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“Mm, should I give you a reward for being so good?”

Immediately he snaps to attention, shifting in his chair like a child eagerly awaiting a slice of cake. Maybe you should’ve tried gagging and binding the other demons you brought back for exorcising. Or maybe this one is just a unique specimen. You lean forward, his cock in your hand, and guide it towards your slick sex. It slips against your folds, and his hips buck involuntarily. When you flash him a stern glare of warning, he only whimpers. Luckily for him, you’re far too desperate to really keep up the rules right now. After a minor adjustment, you try again, and this time he slides home with ease. There’s a delicious aching stretch as his girth fills you slow, inch by inch.

With a soft curse under your breath, you roll your hips, delighting in the low, tortured groans you drag from his throat. Your hands brace against his chest as you ride him, giving you the leverage you need to take him as deep as possible. The rhythm you set is steady and slow, savoring every sound he makes, every tense to his shoulders, every enthusiastic snap of his hips. Desperate, you both chase your release in each other.

“Mm, not gonna last long,” you whisper, taking a handful of his hair and pulling it. His chin tips up, his eyes meet yours, and in those inky depths you see your own desire mirrored there. You lean down, murmuring praise between hushed moans, and press kisses to his jaw and neck. The faint slap of skin against skin mingles with the stuttering gasps and groans of you and your partner.

Suddenly, as the pleasure begins to crest in earnest, there’s a faint snapping sound. The rosary you’ve used to bind his wrists suddenly breaks as he wrenches his arms apart. The sound of the wooden beads clattering to the floor follows. With one arm around your waist, his rhythm never slowing, he unbuckles the gag and tosses it carelessly away. Immediately, his mouth is at your neck and shoulder, biting down into softness there, marking you. The bite _burns_ like a coal on your skin, but you couldn’t care less. The entire world has converged onto this moment, balanced on his fingers, and the only thing you can think of is your release.

Again, his keen canines drag across your shoulder, his claws bite into your hips, a growl rips from his throat. You tip your head back, his teeth mark you again. You gasp sharply, tensing around him, as your third orgasm drowns out your other senses. An ache of over-extended pain chases the pleasure, and you droop against him.

“Gonna come, sweetheart, oh _fuck,_ just a little more, that’s it,” he murmurs, muffling himself against your throat. With a rough, carnal snarl, he thrusts upward hard, and you feel his cock pulse inside you. Panting hard, he tenses, hips twitching with each little pulse. The pleasure fades, and the pair of you are left a sweaty, sticky mess.

Slowly, you sit up, and survey the scattered rosary beads on the floor. You meet his gaze. “You could’ve done that at any time, couldn’t you?”

The demon’s lips curl into a wicked grin, and his tail coils and uncoils, like he’s laughing on the inside. “Maybe.”

“So… what happens now?”

He makes a show of contemplating your question, tapping his chin with one long, clawed finger. “Well… I say we go over to that bed over there and get some sleep, first… You tuckered me right out, sweetheart.” With a playful little grin, his hands drop to your waist to caress the soft skin there. “And then I reckon I make you come about three more times in the morning,” he continues, pressing kisses to the rapidly purpling bite marks on your neck and shoulder. “And then we see where the day takes us.”

“...How can I trust you? What’s stopping you from murdering me in my sleep?”

He snorts. “Babe, that was about the best fuck of me life, and I ain’t about to ruin it.” He nuzzles your collarbone, unusually affectionate for a demon. “‘Sides, s’more fun to get you to make those right pretty sounds than it is to kill ya.”

For just a moment, you look down into his face, studying his expression. The little manic grin on his lips dissolves into an intense gaze. You lean down to kiss him, soft and gentle, and his arms tighten around your waist. Touch-starved, this one is. Slowly, you slip off his lap, and turn towards the door. With uncertainty in his eyes, he watches you, trying to decide whether he should be running or following.

You unlock the deadbolt and look back at him. “So you can go, if you want,” you say, in response to his puzzled stare. The words hang between you for a long minute, heavy with the implications. Finally, he speaks in plain words.

“...I don’t wanna go anywhere, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip to hide your smile. Wordlessly, you cross to the bed and pull back the comforter. Slowly, the demon follows, and slides into bed on the opposite side. The pair of you meet in the middle, face to face, and he hesitates only a moment before drawing you into his arms. You’re too tired to even consider the oddity of the situation. With a quiet, sleepy noise, you fold yourself into his embrace, cheek pressed against his collarbone. His heartbeat thrums against your ear. Something brushes against your leg beneath the blankets, and it takes you have a second to realize that it’s his tail.

“...I never got your name,” you say, half-yawning the words as he tucks your head beneath his chin.

The demon is quiet for a moment. Whether he’s hesitant to divulge such information or whether he has to rack his brain to remember, you’re unsure. When he speaks again, his voice his rough and low.

“It was Jamison, at one point. Long time ago.”

“Mm, I like that. Suits you.”

A quiet snort of a chuckle escape him. “You really are zonked, sweetheart. Get some sleep, alright?”

Part of you fights to stay awake, wanting to ask more questions, but he’s so warm and comfortable, and he’s humming some strange tune in your ear. You can almost recognize it but its true identity is barely out of reach. Slowly, you drift off, and one last thought occurs to you before you finally succumb to sleep.

_Guess I’m done with the family business..._


End file.
